The Man in Gray: A Romance of North and South Part 68

The darkest day of its history was dawning on Arlington. Lee had spent a sleepless night watching the flickering lights of the Capitol, waiting, hoping, praying for a message from the Convention at Richmond. On that message hung the present, the future, and the sacred glory of the past.

The lamp on the table in the hall was still burning dimly at dawn when Mary Lee came downstairs and pulled the old-fas.h.i.+oned bell cord which summoned the butler.

Ben entered with a bow.

"You ring for me, Missy?"

"Yes. You sent to town to see if an Extra had been issued?"

"Ya.s.sam. De boy come back more'n a hour ago."

"There was none?"

"Nomum."

"And he couldn't find Lieutenant Stuart?"

"Nomum. He look fur him in de telegraph office an' everywhar."

"Why don't he come--why don't he come?" she sighed.

"I spec dem wires is done down, an' de news 'bout Secesum come froo de country fum Richmon' by horseback, M'am."

The girl sighed again wearily.

"The coffee and sandwiches ready, Ben?"

"Ya.s.sam. All on de table waitin'. De coffee gittin' cold."

"I'll bring Papa down, if I can get him to come."

"Ya.s.sam. I hopes ye bring him. He sho must be wore out."

"It's daylight," she said, "open the windows and put out the lamp."

Mary climbed the stairs again to get her father to eat. Ben drew the curtains and the full light of a beautiful spring morning flooded the room. A mocking bird was singing in the holly. A catbird cried from a rosebush, a redbird flashed and chirped from the hedge and a colt whinnied for his mother.

The old negro lowered the lamp, blew it out and began to straighten the room. A soft knock sounded on the front door.

He stopped and listened. That was queer. No guest could be coming to Arlington at dawn. Lieutenant Stuart would come on horseback and the ring of his horse's hoofs could be heard for half a mile.

He turned back to his work and the knock was repeated, this time louder.

He cautiously approached the door.

"Who's dar?"

"Hit's me."

"Me who?"

"Hit's me--Sam."

"'Tain't no Sam nuther--"

"'Tis me."

"Sam's bin free mos' ten year now an' he's livin' in New York--"

"I done come back. Lemme come in a minute!"

Ben was not sure. He picked up a heavy cane, held it in his right hand and cautiously opened the door with his left, as Sam entered.

The old man dropped the cane and stepped back in dumb amazement. It was some time before he spoke.

"Name er Gawd, Sam--hit is you."

"Sho, hit's me!"

"What yer doin' here?"

"I come to see my old marster when I hears all dis talk 'bout war. Whar is he?"

Ben lifted his eyes to the ceiling and spoke in a solemn tone:

"Up dar in his room all night trampin' back an' forth lak er lion in de cage, waitin' fur Ma.r.s.e Stuart ter fetch de news fum Richmond 'bout secessun--"

"Secessun?"

Ben nodded--and raised his eyes in a dreamy look.

"Some say Ole Virginy gwine ter stay in de Union. Some say she's a gwine ter secede. De Convenshun in Richmon' wuz votin' on hit yestiddy. Ma.r.s.e Stuart gone ter town ter fetch de news ter Arlington."

Sam stepped close and searched Ben's face.

"What's my ole marster dat set me free gwine ter do?"

"Dat's what everybody's axin. He bin prayin' up dar all night."

Sam glanced toward the stairway and held his silence for a while. He spoke finally with firm conviction.

"Well, I'se gwine wid him. Ef he go wid de Union, I goes. Ef he go wid ole Virginy, I go wid ole Virginy. Whichever way _he_ go, dat's de _right_ way--"

"Dat's so, too!" Ben responded fervently.

Sam advanced to the old butler with the quick step of the days when he was his efficient helper.